Richmond dispatch. [volume] (Richmond, Va.) 1884-1903, 1887-02-27

The Aged yioss and the hoy, Again
INnr XorlL Tinnaa 4

~ ncfeuSeu OfCne9IGh, WHICH bhc R-J.
bills announced in large type, ana
which the manager intended to cut down
TO its usual size on the second night
| The two friends did not feel particularly
elated at the prospect before them. In
deed, the aged viola had already begun
TO make cynical and somewhat bitter
remarks. The band-room was not large
enough for a rat-trap, the theatre was
cold, the chorus-girls were scraggy
lot, and the low comedian looked ike
a qrave-dIgger. That was what the aged
viola said. The boy did not seem to
| think that matters were Sc bad. Inc
| band-room was small, but then no band
rooms were particularly large. The
theatre would be quite warm enough
before the evening was over. The cho-
rus-girls were about as handsome as
chorus-girl usually are without their
makeup" on, and the low comedian
was no more funeral of aspect than
others Of his kind.
ing-a.ling-a-ling
That was what the prompter's bell
said.
"There it goes-the bell" said the
boy. ,rn
| old man "''Tis the knell that sum
mons thee to Heaven or to -"
"The place which Rpb Ingersoll says
isn't" interrupted the boy.
"Pob Ingersoll never played the
viola in an orchestra" grunted the
aged musician as he climbed up the
steep steps.
The members of the band were soon
in their places, and the parts OF the
evenings music were opened.
Overture to the Beautiful Gala
tea" said the aged viola, reading;
"what's that got to do with this bur
lesQue Z"
Rat, tat, tat
j That was what the conductors baton
said as il struck the side of his desk.
"Humph " grunted the viola, pois-
ing his bow.
Down came the conductors baton
with one fell swoop.
Ta-da-de-di, de-di, de-di, de-di, de
da-ta-da, lump-te, doO-o
That was what the whole orchestra
said as it burst into the lively six-eighth
tutti with which Supp5's' tuneful over
ture begins. The composition was
rushed through at a rafting pace, with
out any shading, but with plenty OF
vigor.
"That's fine work, isn't it?" grum-
bled the aged viola when the overture
was finished.
Il fancy it's good enough for the
purpose" said the boy.
"Well, perhaps there's good deal
of truth in that, replied the viola.
Ding
That was what the warning bell said.
The conductors baton was raised
once more, and the orchestra began
the prelude to the opening chorus of
"Billee Taylor"
Fa-a-a Ia dink-dum, la-de-dah-h-h !
That was what the strings and wood
said as the curtain went up. The cho-
rus-girls, transformed by liberal appli-
cations of Oriental cream, rouge, and
black cosmetic, blonde wigs, short
skirts, and what are technically known
as Shannon, Miller Il Cranes into
shapely and fair creatures, stood
around the stage in limp semi-circle,
the male choristers standing behind
them and looking like Italian brigands
badly disguised as peasants.
"To-day, to-day is holiday"
That's what they all sang except the
girl on the left end of the row, who was
winking so hard at the drummer that
he came in bar too SOUL with his forte
roll, and startled the conductor into an
audible malediction. At the end of the
chorus, without any apparent reason,
the chorus gave three cheers and then
burst into laugh.
Poh-doh ; loddle doddle doh.
That was what the bassoon said.
Enter Sir Fyddlestycke Smythyrs,
Baronet and hard-hearted uncle of the
prosecuted maiden, left upper entrance.
Sir Fyddlesticke comes down stage,
rubbing his hands and smiling grimly
on the chorus. Chorus bows low and
awkwardly, but doesn't smile.
Sir Fyddlestycke
Today to-day is holiday,
Now tell me is that what you say7
Chorus (explOsively)--Yes.
Sir Fyd.:
To me you'll speak with more respect,
Or from your homes I'll you eject,
Look on me now with t.mid eyes;
Upon my nibbs there are no flies
Audience: He, he, he Ha, ha, ha
That's the sort of thing We are going
to get al the evening"" remarked the
viola.
"Of course, replied the boy "what
else do you expect ?"
Nothing"
Then you'll not be disappointed"
81 may not be disappointed, but I'll
be disguised just the same"
Chorus goes off at the end of Sir Fyd-
dlestycke's long string Of puns.
SIR FYD.-Now Pm alone, I'll have my fling;
Play me Jig; I'll dance and sing.
Orchestra plays a song and dance,
"Where the Pansies Bloom" Sir Fyd-
dlestycke sings in wheezy and unmu-
steal baritone voice and dances like q
farmer stung by bee. Rapturous APP
plause from the audience, and Sir Fyd-
dlestycke does it all over again. This
time they do not applaud much, but he
comes out and bows very gratefully.
Tiddle-liddle dee-di, tiddle-liddle-dee.
That's what the strings say as a very
blonde young lady with very dark
brown eyes waltzes on, waving basket
of flowers around her head. This is
Mirabella Smythyrs, niece of the hard
hearted uncle aforesaid. Mirabella
comes down to the foot-ights and gives
a well-feigned glance of surprised de-
light into the prosenium-bOx on the
left, where sits middle-aged gentle
man, wearing a huge white rose in his
button-hole.
" Love is like a summer flower,
Born TO blossom and 10 die;
Those who suffer fronfits power
Sometimes laugh and sometimes sigh.
Though we cannot live without II,
What a time we have about IL!
OF all things the earth above
There is naught 80 sweet as love-"
That is what the lovely Mirabella
sings in a shrill soprano voice-reedy
in the lower register, acid as vinegar in
the upper register, and unsympathetic
all the way through. She smiles and
looks langrishly from under her long,
rvalI hlonkanad loahaa and tha aami-